


DKS Hic Jacet

by Dryad



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Casefile-ish, F/M, pg13, post-Tithonus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-27
Updated: 2013-10-27
Packaged: 2017-12-30 14:27:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1019743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dryad/pseuds/Dryad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"If I didn't know better, I'd say you were chickening out."</p>
            </blockquote>





	DKS Hic Jacet

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Credo, quia absurdum  
'I believe, although it is absurd'

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

The sandwich board in the wide hallway read:

 

_Welcome!_  
University of Maryland  
Classes 1986 – 1990 

 

Scully stopped dead in her tracks. "Mulder, I haven't seen any of these people in years. Besides, the likelihood of me knowing anyone in there is pretty moot. Our classes were huge."

He smiled. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were chickening out."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous," she said, glancing at the sign again. She wished she could use her wound as an excuse, but since she was feeling well enough to return to light field duty, she didn't see that she had much choice.

"Go on in, Scully," he said, walking backwards towards the lobby as he checked his watch at the same time. "Professor Keyes shouldn't take too long."

Was it so wrong to feel so bereft without him by her side? She used to feel pride at her independence, beholden to few, yet that had all changed once she joined the X-Files. She had admitted to herself on numerous occasions that the incident in New York made her feel fragile, the kind of frailty only the deaths of loved ones made you feel. And she couldn't say she hated it. Mulder was by her side, solicitous and compassionate, tender in his own way. She didn't have to fight herself, didn't have to fight him, didn't have to pretend she wasn't terrified. Ironically, With him she was safe.

Scully slowly took a deep breath, still wary of pain from her torso, and headed for the double doors behind the sandwich board.

Beyond was a small foyer, where a young man – his name tag read ALAN BALL - sat behind a table topped by a computer and printer. Behind the table were yet another set of doors. 

He looked at her brightly. "Could I have your name, please?"

"Dana Scully," she said. 

He tapped on the keyboard. "There you are...plenty of people from your class inside. You missed dinner, but there is a cash bar."

The printer whirred and spat out a slip of paper. Ball took it and peeled off the backing, handed the sticker to her. "Have fun!"

Right. She pasted a smile on her lips and went to the doors, surreptitiously rolling the sticky name tag into a little tube between her fingertips. 

Babel swept over her as she stepped into the conference room, a confused jangle of music, cigarette smoke, laughter, and jewelry that sparked in the ambient light.

God. What the hell was she doing here?

Scully spied the bar and got herself a club soda with a twist of lime, then searched for an out of the way spot near the doors scanning the crowd, looking for people she remembered and could avoid.

Of course, seeing as how she didn't want to be there, Paul Duke was the first one to approach her.

"Dana Scully, as I live and breathe," he said, walking up to her with one hand held out, the other holding an empty champagne flute. "You’re the last person I ever expected to turn up to one of these do's. Still cracking skulls open in search of enlightenment?"

A sudden stiff breeze was too much to hope for, but she was glad to see his toupee was slightly askew. "How are you, Paul?"

"Oh great, just great! Just opened a private office in Atlanta. Crystal and I, you remember her Crystal Shipman, we got married a few years ago. Anyway, we moved to Atlanta last spring. Great house, great kids, great schools. Bethany's first in her class, and look here," he whipped out his wallet and flipped it open before she had a chance to get a word in edgewise. One of those fold out plastic pockets fell to his knees. "Here's Bethy, and that's Mark. He'll be three on Tuesday."

It was easy to be charmed, for both children were adorable, big blue eyes and light brown hair coupled with guileless, gap-toothed smiles. 

"I want at least two more kids," Paul continued. "But Crystal's put a stop to it. She says she'll only have more if we hire a nanny and she gets a c-section, plus a tummy tuck and a boob job."

Lovely. Definitely more information that she wanted to know.

"Actually, I'm the one insisting on the boob job," he said, winking conspiratorially. "Might as well get everything done at once."

More than a little disquieted – not only with him, but with herself for standing there and nodding like an idiot – Scully didn't even bother to turn to apologize to Paul, merely checked her phone in the hopes Mulder might have texted her with something needed to be done asap. Faxing someone, perhaps, or going upstairs to make sure his razor was juiced up.

God, she was pathetic.

When had she last felt like she was the new kid in school, desperate to know the unwritten rules, to find her place?

"So, what about you? What have you been up to for the last few years?"

Scully blinked, let her lips curl up ever so slightly. "I'm a Forensic Pathologist."

He blinked back. "Hunh, we all thought you were going to get your MRS degree and leave medicine for good," He pursed his lips and leaned forward. "For what it's worth, I think you made the right choice."

Well, that was pretty telling as to the nature of her character and what others thought of it. Not that she gave a crap what these people thought. Mostly. 

Paul gestured towards her right. "Hey! Naomi! Meredith!"

Two more of her least favorite classmates slunk over. Naomi Stone, whose beauty was matched only by the ruthlessness of her ambition, was still as elegant as ever. Her jet black hair was pulled back into a tight chignon, her little black dress the perfect fit of Parisian Haute Couture, her shoes more money than Scully made in a month. Good grief, it was only a class reunion.

Still joined to Naomi's hip with the invisible bonds of social popularity was Meredith Williamson. A vapid brunette from Colorado, Meredith's greatest joy in life appeared to have been putting as many notches in her bedpost as she could manage. And judging by the leather-like tone of her skin, apparently she was just as enamored of the tanning salon as ever. One would think a doctor would know better.

"Dana," Naomi purred. "It's so wonderful to see you again. Meredith and I were just talking about the classmates we haven't seen in so long. You, Josh Stackpole, Mike Lewis, Benoit. Oh, well, we see Benoit in that reality show, you know, the one about the ER in Rwanda?"

"You guys never write in to the mag, either," Meredith said breathlessly. "Why is that?"

Scully shook her head. "I'm sure they're simply too busy. I certainly am. "

Meredith nodded. "Oh yes. My husband says the same thing every day. But that's the life of a doctor."

"So, Paul," Naomi paused to take a sip of her drink. "I heard a rumor that you were being appointed to head the Sam Pfeiffer Fund."

Not for the first time, Scully felt weak and out of her social depth. Nor did she understand why. Her family was moderately wealthy, but she had grown up with people from all different classes and incomes. These people had once been her peers, and yet she felt she had no common ground with them, not even medicine. She cared more for the bodies she came across in the autopsy bay than for these so-called friends. Hell, she'd probably care more.

Maybe it all came down to priorities. Whether or not she missed Monday's game was of no concern to her – except when Mulder wouldn't stop bitching about the referees – and keeping up with the Joneses, who gave a damn when it could even more easily be taken away?

And it didn't matter who she was around anymore, either. It had never occurred to her, that one day she could be in the company of her mother or brother, and feel nothing. Dispassion was too mild a word. The horror and shame she felt afterwards, plus the obscure sense of guilt, rather than fragmenting her, only served to further solidify her seclusion. 

Isolated, yes. Lonely...not often. But she was equally at fault for her isolation. She chose to do the work, and indeed, for years she had been unable to imagine doing anything else.

'"Go be a doctor"' Mulder had once said to her. She must have had a brief moment of insanity when she had said she would at some point in the future. Honestly, working in an office, treating people for things they had done to themselves? The notion was ludicrous.

The truth of it was that the dead needed her far more than the living. The dead cried out for honor. The dead cried out for salvation.

But most of all, the dead cried out for justice – and that she could provide.

She didn't think many outside of law enforcement understood the depth of her outrage, the amount of wrongness she felt every time a body came to her attention. The urge to do something, to see things put right gave her strength even as it pulled her away from family and friends.

"I told Eric there was no way I continue on, I mean, there's no reason why the consultant to the CEO shouldn't have an office with a view, y'know?" Naomi gave a one shoulder shrug. "So after threatening to leave the company, and believe me, they needed all the help I could give, they caved. Now I spend three months in Japan, six months in China, one month in Australia and two months back home in California, problem solved."

A mild breeze swept Scully from head to foot, waking her from her own too introspective thoughts.

"Excuse me," she murmured, following the fresh air. At one end of the room she found a set of French doors which opened onto an atrium lit softly by incongruously frosted chandeliers. Tropical plants flourished in the manner appropriate to a hotel, and bright orange, gold, and white koi serenely swam through a raised black marble pond on her left. The tops of the trees stirred again, and she realized that several panels of glass in the roof had been propped open. She hoped, for the sake of the guests as well as her suit, that there were screens preventing pigeons from entering the room. She just couldn't see herself explaining to Accounting exactly why the shit staining her collar was related to the case.

She grinned to herself and carefully sat on the edge of the koi pond. The fish eyed her and moved closer, undoubtedly hoping she had something yummy in her pockets. "Sorry guys. I'm all treated out at the moment."

"You never were one for treats."

Agony rippled through her from belly to back as she hopped to her feet, twisting hard to see who was speaking. She doubled over, groaning under her breath, trying to see who it was even as she slapped one hand on her weapon.

A figure approached from the shadows that had been behind her. "Jesus, are you all right?"

She held up one hand and backed up a few steps, trying to breathe deep and slow her racing heart.

"Come on," The man motioned towards the edge of the koi pond. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. Just, come sit down, okay?"

Christ, he was just a guest, probably one of her fellow alums. He kept his distance while she slowly moved back to her seat, eased herself back down. 

"Plenty of doctors around if you need one," He said as he sat down, leaving plenty of space between them. He was good looking, in the way you wouldn't notice on a cursory glance. "You don't remember me, do you."

After a moment, Scully frowned and shook her head. "I'm sorry, no. I mean, you look familiar..."

"That's all right," He motioned towards himself. "Finn Keith. Dana Scully, right?"

She nodded, took her time straightening up again.

"We were in the same year. We had the same rotation with Dr. Waterston."

Memory flooded back to her, then. The passage of time had broadened Finn, although he could still have used another ten pounds on his extra lean frame. Contacts had done away with the need for glasses and fine white-blond hair crept over his collar, oddly enough highlighting his mixed race coloring rather nicely, more so than she would have thought he could have gotten away with. Casually dressed in jeans, floral Oxford, and a navy blazer, his air was that of a man who didn't much care what other people thought of him.

"No, I remember," she said, leaning back slightly, forcing tight muscles to relax. "Are you still in medicine?"

"Podiatry, like my dad," Finn removed a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket. He waved them at her, which she declined with a small head shake.

"I know. Doctors should know better," he paused to light and inhale, exhale. "And you? You in some big hospital somewhere? I seem to recall you wanting to move back to the West Coast, San Diego, San Francisco, some San place like that?"

"I can't believe you remember that," she said. "I can't believe I forgot."

Finn looked at her out of the corner of his eye before refocusing on his cigarette. "I guess you got sidetracked."

Giving up any pretence at not knowing who what he was referring to, Scully sighed. She took a few swallows of her faux gin and tonic before answering. "Did everyone know?"

He shrugged. "Discretion and youth rarely go together. Besides, Dr. Waterston," he stopped, shrugged again. "It's all in the past, anyway."

And there it was, sitting unspoken between the two of them, the nasty suspicion that she had been neither alone nor Daniel's first student lover. "So, he had a reputation."

"Sorry. Conspiracies of silence can be hell," he said. He blew smoke rings her way.

"Tell me about it," she muttered under her breath.

"Anyhoo, you married? Kids? Boyfriend?" he raised an eyebrow. "Girlfriend?" 

"None of the above," Scully gave Finn a sidelong glance, then trailed her fingers through the water. A silver-white fish stopped and studied her, turning this way and that, looking at her like it didn't know if she were predator or prey. She fluttered her fingers and it was gone in the blink of an eye.

Finn reminded her of Mulder. A Mulder without a quest, and for the first time she truly understood that maybe her very brief, idealized, romantic imaginings on the subject might not be the best thing after all. For either of them. 

Then again, she could barely envision what her own life would have been like had she stayed with Daniel. Would she have been happy, working the proverbial nine to five, dressing for dinner, going to the opera? She doubted it even more in light of what she had just learned. Not that she hadn't known at the time, deep down with all the other truths she had hidden from herself.

And there was no question that she would have gone into forensics, her secret passion.

Dead things. During her recuperation, her mother had off-handedly mentioned Mulder's reaction to the dead-bunny story.

"Oh," she had said, rolling her eyes. "I don't think Fox was very pleased about how Bill used to tease you. I told him it was the nature of big brother, little sister relationships, but I don't think he believed me."

"Maybe he doesn't like to consider that he might have treated his own little sister in the same manner," Scully had replied, irrationally angry at her mother for being so insensitive.

Her mother had stopped chuckling, struck mute by the unspoken implication.

That's right, Mom. Samantha never came home.

In truth, though, she'd always been fascinated by dead things. Like everyone else, she'd poked at the trout floating belly-up in Grandpa's stocked pond, but only she had stayed long after the others had moved on to the neighbor's brand new litter of pups. Moths in the attic, crickets trapped overwinter in the basement, silverfish trapped in rotting books – she'd plucked and prodded and pinned to scavenged pieces of cardboard, carefully labeling them according to her observations:

Powder wing moth  
Broken wing moth  
Dried-up fly

That phase had lasted until her father had discovered her collection in a shoe-box while looking for a pair of brogues. He'd mocked it.

She couldn't remember what he had said, only his grin and the unspoken glee in his threat of telling Bill and Charlie. She wasn't a fool. When he'd left the attic, she had immediately dismantled the project, racing to the toilet with her exhibits stuffed into her back pockets, flushing away the evidence.

"Lately I've become bored with podiatry as well," Finn cocked his head to one side. "Despite what you may have heard, it's not the stuff of legend. And you never answered my question, either, so don't think you can wiggle out of it."

Sudden pride surged through her, and in a rare moment of flag waving, she flashed her badge. "Special Agent Dana Scully, at your service."

His eyes widened. "No shit? That is so awesome. You always get your man, Special Agent Doctor Dana Scully? Wow, talk about being over-educated."

Scully huffed a little laugh, winced at the resultant ache in her gut. "My partner and I, we have a higher than average solve rate."

"Cool. So what's it like, being in the FBI? Tougher than it looks?"

"It's like any other large bureaucracy. As long as they don't notice what you're doing - " she shrugged. "And yes, it's been difficult, very difficult at times."

"But you get all the glory, too, right?"

"Did you secretly want to be a G-man, Finn?"

He grinned, his teeth the paper white of a fresh brightening. "I was all about that tv show when I was a kid, remember 'The FBI' with Efrem Zimbalist, junior? No, I bet you watched 'Quincy'."

"Oh god yes. Don't forget 'Emergency!' My mom was hooked Marcus Welby," Scully shook her head with a rueful smile. "I think she always wanted to be a doctor herself."

Finn nodded, yawned immediately thereafter. "Sorry, long day."

"I hear that," Scully muttered, twitching at the vibration in her pocket. With an apologetic smile she turned away. "Scully."

"It's me. There's definitely someone there. Two more bodies were found in an empty train car at the switchyards in College Park. The same set up as San Diego, Las Vegas, Kansas City, Miami."

"Alright," she said, swinging around to face Finn. She watched him take out another cigarette, light it. Hunh. Before hanging up, she said, "I may have a lead."

"What prompted you to come to this shindig?" he asked, motioning towards the ballroom with his glass.

"I was curious. Wondered if everyone had ended up in the area they were studying. Weren't you going into Neurosurgery?"

"Yeah, I was. But it was too ethereal. I'm a practical person, I like seeing more concrete results."

Scully raised both eyebrows. "Brain surgery isn't concrete enough for you?"

"Well, obviously you know as soon as the patient says something, or wakes up, or doesn't. But things can change years down the road. Patient gets hit in the head or sleeps wrong or gets their hair washed at the wrong angle at the hairdressers...podiatry isn't like that. You do the surgery, you set the cast, you see how the movement changes, improves. Unlike Neurosurgery, there's always something that can be done. But what I really want to know is how the body reacts to reattachment."

Scully frowned. "We do know that."

"No," he said. "that's not it. The fact remains that we don't know how the cell structure rearranges itself to accommodate new limbs."

"I'm sorry, you've lost me."

"Think of it this way; when a patient loses their foot, whether by accident or design, we simply have them use a prosthetic. But what if we could actually reattach a foot?" Finn turned towards her in his enthusiasm. "What if we could not only reattach the foot, but use another person's limb entirely? It would be no different than doing a face transplant! In fact, far less traumatic, because the patient wouldn't have to face, if you will, a lifetime of looking in the mirror and seeing a virtual stranger."

"That sounds a little Shelley-esque," to put it mildly.

He waved one hand dismissively. "And face transplants aren't? Noses growing out of people's foreheads, thumbs regrowing out of your stomach, tooth buds? Those aren't Shelley-esque? Where's the line between acceptable and disgusting?"

"I don't know," she answered honestly. "What's your approach going to be with the AMA?"

"The AMA, please," he looked at her speculatively, then nodded once to himself. He stood, stretched."I've already begun testing. No outright successes so far, but I continue to persevere."

"Testing? What kind of testing?"

"Human trials. I'm being funded by a private agency out of Russia. I live in Florida, but travel to California, Nevada, and Chelyabinsk several times a year. Beautiful city, beautiful."

"Hmm," 'Beautiful' was not a word Scully associated with Chelyabinsk. The pictures she had seen of the city's people were horrible, horrible. Terrifying. Pitiful. A population desperate for answers, for help. Therefore an excellent choice for experimentation. Scully said, "You'll have a place in the history books if you're successful."

"Absolutely."

Scully was saved from having to draw more from Finn by Mulder's arrival. Black trench coat sweeping behind him from the swiftness of his walk, he met her eyes briefly (Are you alright?)(Fine, yes, thanksImgladyourehere) before turning to Finn. "Mulder," she said. 

"Scully, did you find what you were looking for?"

"Yes, I believe so," she said, getting to her feet more stiffly than she thought she should. Hardly proof of her ability to back Mulder up in the field. "You were right, he was here all along. This is Dr. Finn Keith."

Mulder stepped right up to Finn. "Mr. Keith, we'd like you to answer a few questions."

"About what?"

"Your activities in California, Kansas, Miami, and Las Vegas," Scully replied, surprised by his lack of surprise. Unless his slumped shoulders and frown were a lie, despite his passion only a few moments before, now Finn looked defeated and tired.

"Am I being arrested?"

"No," said Mulder.

Not yet, Scully silently added.

Finn's lip curled into a sneer as he faced Scully. "Well, I guess going into the FBI was the right choice for you after all."

Later on she hated to admit it, but she was glad when Mulder sent her back to their hotel two hours into the interview. Finn was eager enough to talk about his 'work', in between complaints of being unable to do it in the proper facilities, under decent safeguards, never mind those irritating Informed Consent laws.

Which left her lying on the bed, half-asleep, listening to Charlie Rose drone on with some author. A double knock was all the warning she got before Mulder unlocked and opened the door. She said, "Hey."

"You good?"

"Yeah. Finn?"

Mulder slung his jacket on the desk chair and toed off his shoes, loosened his tie. He carefully lay down on top of the covers on the other side of the bed, then grabbed the remote.

She was too tired to make more than a token grab for the wretched thing before giving up to curl on her side facing him. "No sports."

He readjusted the pillow under his head. "Go to sleep, Scully. We've got a long day ahead of us."

"Hmm?"

"I booked us a flight to Raleigh."

"Ra...leigh?" she asked, yawning midway through. She sensed him turning to look at her, cracked open one eyelid.

"I thought was could visit Johanna and Henrik before flying back to DC."

She had to think for a moment before recognition arrived. "Oh, your cousin? Yeah, I'd like that."

"Good."

He shifted on the mattress as she drifted off in pleased anticipation of a good lunch and afternoon tea with Johanna and her husband. Maybe this time she would meet the children, too, and see what a normal Mulder family interaction looked like.

All in all, a good day's work.

~*~ end ~*~

**Author's Note:**

> I do not recommend looking at pictures of people from Chelyabinsk, one of the most polluted places on Earth. Especially if you are a new parent or have young children. Just...don't.
> 
> Johanna & Henrik - we first meet Mulder's cousin in [ 'Because We Have Nothing Better To Do'](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1018515)


End file.
